


Linger On

by SouthronWildling



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), First Time, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-13 00:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19956646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthronWildling/pseuds/SouthronWildling
Summary: Post-Armageddn't. They have a moment.





	Linger On

**Author's Note:**

> Pale Blue Eyes - Velvet Underground

**Six days post-Apocalypse**

Six days after the world didn't end, five days after they had switched back to the correct corporations, and absolutely nothing was any different. Well, that wasn't completely true. There were new books in the bookshop, after all, children's books, for Somebody's sake, and the sofa Crowley was currently sprawled out on was a slightly different shade of cream and was decidedly better cushioned than before. And it had doilies. Crocheted ones; lacy knotted thread things laid against the back and arms of the upholstery. But still. Nothing that much different.

Aziraphale was perched on his chair, perfectly comme il faut.

They were two bottles in to a marvelous vintage that Crowley was certain he could name if he could be arsed to, but he wasn't, so it was... some red. A good vintage, though, and when he drained his glass and found the bottle had refilled itself, he wasn't sure if it was his own doing or the angel's, but it was a good effort, all things considered.

"The thing is," he said, and then paused a bit for dramatic effect and also because he wasn't completely sure he wanted to go there just now, but it really did seem like a good idea, and also because he wasn't quite sure what his initial thought was meant to connect with.

"The thing is," he tried again.

"Bouillabasse? It didn't happen, the dolphins, you know. Oh! We could go to Marseille. They have some excellent restaurants, I understand." Aziraphale didn't seem as drunk as Crowley felt, and he wondered if he should sober up. He siphoned off a little, just to even the score.

"No, not bouyeah.. ehh...fish stew. Listen. The thing is, dancing. Did you ever dance?"

"Well, I did learn to gavotte. Very enjoyable, the gavotte, all those turns and turns about!"

Crowley eyed him behind his glasses. Aziraphale was in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, and he'd actually rolled his sleeves up just a bit. Faint white hairs were curving against his wrists and he raised his glass to his lips, which were stained just slightly, just a bit, just on the innermost edge, with purple from the wine. Crowley thought he might explode.

"Waltz? Or just, like, a box-step? Gavotte is a line dance, like that achey breaky heart thing."

Aziraphale seemed personally affronted. He drew himself up in his chair, and his face had all the disdain of a dowager countess being offered some second-rate something or other, Crowley wasn't sure what, but it was absolutely inferior.

"Do not - I cannot stress this enough enough - do NOT compare the gavotte to some do the hustle do do do do-do-ta-do ta do thing. It wasn't like that at ALL."

"Angel. It was three steps removed from the cha cha slide."

"I don't know what that is," Aziraphale was breathing a bit heavier and had a flush that betrayed the lie.

"Sure you do. Left foot two stomps." He grinned as Aziraphale flushed even more red.

"Charlie Brown?" the words were soft, under his breath, and Crowley grinned even harder.

"Yeah. Did you ever learn to dance like.. Charlie Brown... or Fred and Ginger, is what I'm asking, did you ever dance like that?"

"No, of course not. I did the paper pattern thing but I never had anyone to dance with, of course, so it was just faffing about with an imaginary companion."

"Alright, then. That's all I'm asking. I want to dance. I brought music for it." He neglected to mention he'd brought it four days ago. He shoved himself off the couch and launched himself at the gramophone.

"What is it?"

"Just give me a second," he said, arm still working the antique record player. He set the vinyl record down and moved the needle-arm. There was the hiss of dead air.

"Here," he said, and held out his hand. The angel took it and moved into his arms with far less fuss than he'd imagined. He felt... well, perfect, if one was trying to describe the feeling, which Crowley wasn't. Crowley was trying to absorb the feeling while also keeping himself on his feet, and keeping his feet moving in time with the sounds of guitar and tambourine currently issuing from the gramophone, after all. He didn't have time for anything else.

It was definitely no time to try anything fancy, and so he wrapped one arm around Aziraphale's waist and clasped his hand, and moved him in a gentle, swaying, back and forth movement around the perhaps six square feet the back room of the bookshop afforded them.

"....but mostly you just make me mad," warbled from the gramophone.

"Crowley," Aziraphale began.

"Shhh. Just dance, angel. Okay?"

They swayed together, in the little expanse of the bookshop, feet finding the perfect notches to move into and bodies moving in tandem. The angel was better at being led by an experienced partner than Crowley had expected, and he turned and twisted even as the gramophone hissed, "your pale blue eyes," and he pushed Aziraphale into a turn under his arm and then pulled him back in.

"I used to think I would lead," Aziraphale said.

Crowley pulled him in a bit closer and kept up the swaying movement. It seemed most paramount at that moment. His angel, in his arms, moving against him at that moment _. I had but couldn't keep._ Yeah, well, that was beside the point.

He pushed Aziraphale out and made him turn again, a pretty pirouette. Zira was flushed after, looking up at him with his blond curls in disarray and his expression open, questioning, wanting.. Oh G-, Sat, - Somebody!

He pulled him in close. The next bits of the song would say enough and he wanted the angel close to him before the reveal was done and he was naked. They were pressed against each other, swaying in time with the song, soft and comforting. Nothing so desperate as the want in Crowley's chest, no, not at all, this song is gentle, it's quiet and loving, oh please, don't you feel it?

Aziraphale let his chin rest against Crowley's shoulder, and then rubbed it downwards, pressing a little against his collarbone.

"...the fact that you are married, only proves you're my best friend. Linger on...," warbled from the gramophone.

"Crowley," he said again, and demonic hands immediately halted where they were stroking up and down Aziraphale's sides for the first time in six thousand years.

Blue eyes met gold ones.

"It's not a sin. Love isn't a sin. I'm fine, and we're fine, and this is fine. Be here with me now."

There was a bit more lingering upon things, and not just pale blue eyes, after that.


End file.
